Sometimes, Magic is the Only Answer
by Bookrush39
Summary: Sometimes, people you think you know have secrets you'll never even think to look for. Sometimes, the secrets could be bigger than you could ever imagine. Fem!John, who also happens to be a witch. And married to Charlie Weasley. *Crossposted to ao3 under same name*
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes, Jane Watson's dreams are full of grand towers, turrets, and tapestries. Full of Latin incantations and fast, flying broomsticks that make her feel as if she were a mighty falcon. She dreams of a family of redheads with matching jumpers and grand meals of treacle tarts and roasted lamb squished onto a too-small table.

Oddly enough, her nightmares of the war always seem more real than then those dreams ever do.

* * *

She plays muggle, waiting for the kettle to hiss and sitting in cabs that take just about forever to make it to her destinations (it's not quite forever, for she experienced forever one night).

She moves in with a Muggle man, who can't be completely muggle, she determines, for no muggle could deduce as this man can. He's hasn't magic, and that is the truth, but he just toes the line of the extraordinary. She scoffs at the thought of thousands of wizards believing that magic is exclusive to them, and them only. She had learned that muggles have their own, unique sort of magic. One that a certain Sherlock Holmes demonstrates slightly more than the rest of the population.

* * *

She sits on a barstool, the pungent, but unmistakable scent of tap beer and cheap liquor filling her nostrils (Oh, what she would do for a good butterbeer right about now). She laughs and cheers when the Yard toasts their drinks to another case solved, another murder avenged. They don't know that she wishes they were different people right now, in a different pub. She could almost envision her old auror unit sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, tossing a shot of Firewhisky back for another dark wizard imprisoned, another step closer to the casualties of the war being avenged as brooms sweep on their own and drinks refill themselves. She orders whiskey, "the strongest you've got."

An hour or so later, when everyone is indisputably tipsy and bordering drunk, Donovan approaches her, swaying slightly.

"Oi, when ya gonna get a boyfriend? Or are they all too weirded out by the freak?"

Jane laughs, Donovan not noticing the bitter undertones and the mild insults plugged into her next words. "Maybe I'm not looking for a relationship now." She replies, "Maybe I have greater things to worry about."

Yeah, Jane thought. Maybe I already have a husband. Maybe my thoughts are plagued with when and if I'm going to see him again.

She _almost_ allows herself to envision Charlie's smiling face as he pulls their children closer. Almost, for the grief is too much to bear on a fine night like this.

* * *

She hums a nondescript magical tune beneath her breath as she strings the tree with lights. Christmas, she determines, is its own kind of magic. She drinks her eggnog, sings carols and admires the window displays just as if she was in her family home. Of course she was going to miss the Weasleys this holiday season, but she reckons that it won't be so bad. Its her and Sherlock's turn to host the Yard's annual Christmas party this year, and she's going to make it as festive as possible. Nobody celebrates the holiday season like Hufflepuffs, afterall.

Muggle Christmas will never come close to wizard Christmas, she thinks scornfully that night (or should she say the next morning) at 3am. She dreamt of flying tinsel, singing holiday cards, teal jumpers embroidered with the letter "J," and her husband's face when he is caught trying to buy presents last minute.

No, she determines, muggle Christmas will always disappoint. That doesn't stop her from throwing a heck of a party though.

* * *

Jane doesn't have magic, she is magic. She feels it thrumming beneath her skin, in the twitch of her fingers when she does something the mundane muggle way.

And sometimes, just sometimes, she grasps her wand and lets her clothes fold themselves after a long day at work. It never satisfies.

* * *

She thinks Sherlock knows that there is something not quite right about her, something extraordinary. He probably thinks that it's her ability to keep up with him on cases. She thinks that although that is quite an accomplishment, he has no idea what extraordinary really entails.

* * *

She remembers the last day she spent with her family before she was placed here, in Muggle London. She remembers laying down at the shores of the lake near their house at sunset, watching the sky turn red, orange, yellow, pink, then standing up and seeing it again. She remembers hearing the tinkerbell-like laugh of her daughter as she points out the colors in the sky which she learned at Grandma Molly's house and the feel of her older son's arms around her torso. She remembers Charlie's tears, both happy and sad, as he looked her in the eyes with so much palpable love that Jane thought for that moment that her heart just might explode.

Later that night, when the kids were all tucked in at the Burrow, she stood with Charlie, Molly and Arthur, all of them freely crying.

"I don't wanna leave. I don't wanna leave you guys," she remembers saying.

"Trust me, love, we don't want you to go," Charlie said, choking back tears, "But it has to be done. We all know it does."

"Well that doesn't make it any easier, now does it?" Arthur said. No it didn't. Not at all.

"At least I know you all will be safe. At least I know you all will be safe." Jane remembers repeating, trying to convince herself of the fact as more tears came.

"Oh, dear," said Molly as she pulled me in tight. I felt two other sets of arms wrap around me.

"Don't worry about the kids, love," Charlie whispers, "I'll enroll them in daycare in Romania. Merlin, how I wish I could write you. Oh, it won't be the same without you, Jane. We won't be the same without you."

"We'll count the days," Molly concluded with a sad smile, "We'll be waiting for you, dear. We always will."

* * *

When the Ministry told her she had to leave her family and play muggle, she guffawed and told them to piss off. She told them that they were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. They told her that she doesn't know the extent of the danger that she was in.

When the Ministry told Charlie that he was to pack up the house and kids and head off to Romania pretending that Jane went missing, he reacted with as much fire as the Weasley's represented.

They ended up doing what the Ministry said. Everyone ends up succumbing to authority in the end.

* * *

When Sherlock leapt off that bloody building, she reached for her wand. It wasn't there.

* * *

5 floorboards in from the door. 2 floorboards to the right. That's where her wand is.

Too tedious to get it when Sherlock strolls out the door, already solving a case, she determines. She moves it so it lies right next to her gun.

* * *

_Peck, peck._

"What is that insufferable noise? Make it stop, Watson!" Sherlock complains from his chair.

_Peck, peck._

Weasley, she internally corrects, Watson is my maiden name.

_Peck, peck._

"I am not your servant!" She replies, faking indignance, "You make it stop."

_Peck, peck. Peck peck peck peck._

"Oh, you… talk about insufferable!" She mumbles under her breath as she starts investigating the sound.

_Peck, peck._

"It's coming from my right." Sherlock adds, watching in amusement.

"The window, maybe? It doesn't make sense for it to be a branch, there are no trees!"

_Peck, peck, peck._

"No, not a branch. Sounds almost like a woodpecker, but on our window. I'm not going to explain to the woodpecker that widows are, in fact, glass, Jane. That'll be your job." He looks up at Jane, realizing that she was staring at him, wide eyed. She then turned her gaze to the window.

"You know what it is." Sherlock quickly deduced. "Something you've been looking forward too, but also something you do not wish me to see."

"Uhh, yes." Jane hesitantly replied. "Can you, uhh?" She gestures to the other room. Sherlock nodded, they'd been working on respecting privacy.

* * *

_They put 'em in Azkaban, Jane! You're safe, we're all safe! We could be a family again! It's only been 713 days (but it's felt like forever!). Can't wait for the inevitable group hug!_

_Lots of love, _

_Charlie, Mick, and Stella_

_The entire Weasley/Potter clan, too!_

* * *

Jane had never truly cried as hard as she did that night.


	2. Chapter 2

Through her haze, she drops down unto her knees and sees a blurred Sherlock come rushing into the room. She doesn't acknowledge him, too focused on the letter sitting in front of her and the tears of joy streaming down her face. Jane tries to memorize the curves of Charlie's handwriting, the messy signatures of her children's.

"Jane, what's wrong? Who would send a carrier pigeon to you? Who even writes letters anymore?"

"The Ministry of Magic," Jane replies, choking out words, "And it's was an owl, not a pigeon." She laughs, "I would think you could deduce better than that."

Sherlock guffaws, "You think I would deduce better than- An owl, Watson?! What are you going on about!"

"It's Weasley," she quickly corrects, "Watson is my maiden name. And as for what I'm going on about, Sherlock? It's Magic," she whispers it as if it were a prayer. And she feels the magic her words, in little sparks and hums and colored pixie dusts. She's not telling Sherlock what she has with those magic-laced words, but she's telling him what she is, what she loves. She's telling him her biggest, lightest secret.

"I'm Magic. I'm a Witch. I'm a Witch, Sherlock, just one out of the thousands in the Wizarding World! And..and its safe for me to go home again, Sherlock. Safe for me to reunite with my family!" She knows she's rambling, and she knows that Sherlock has no idea what she's talking about. She can't find herself to care.

Sherlock grabs the letter off the floor, where she had dropped it and his eyes quickly scan the parchment. He reads it again and again, shaking his head.

"But...I don't understand. Your only family is Harry and, and what's Azkaban anyway? And you certainly don't have a husband. The only option coming to my mind is that you're part of the Witness Protection Program, but they would never let you run around with me!"

Jane just laughs from her spot on the floor, and grabs the discarded envelope from beside her, pulling out a more official looking letter.

"No Sherlock, not Witness Protection, but the Ministry of Magic. Here," she holds out the piece of parchment to him.

* * *

_Dear Mrs. Jane H. Weasley,_

_We are pleased to inform you that your primary attackers and tormentors _Corban Yaxley _and _Thorfinn Rowle, _as well as some of their less notable accomplices _, _have been subdued and will spend the rest of their lives in the Azkaban Prison for the Dark and Corrupt. Yaxley and Rowle will receive the Dementor's Kiss upon arrival. It is safe for you to return to the Wizarding World and for your family to return to the United Kingdom. Even so, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will set up extra charms and enchantments around your home as an extra precaution. We are pleased to have you back._

_Cordially,_

_The Ministry of Magic, The Minister of Magic (Kingsley Shacklebolt) and the Department for Magical Law Enforcement_

_P.S. Hello, Jane, it's Harry! Charlie and the kids are already on their way back from Romania and after you all meet up and spend some time together, Molly and Arthur are planning to host a Welcome Home Party for you at the Burrow. The family has grown since you've left, every Weasley sibling has at least two children now! I've even had 2 with Ginny (she's expecting a third!) We can't wait to see you again and to introduce you to the rest of your family. Teddy would like to see his godmother again as well._

_Cheers,_

_Harry Potter, your brother in law (can you consider me that?) and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

_P.P.S Oh, I forgot to mention that you're being offered the job of Head Auror in my department! Congratulations! ;) ;)_

* * *

"I- I...What?" Jane suddenly felt bad for the consulting detective. She threw magic of all things on him of all people, and now the famous Sherlock Holmes was reduced to stuttering.

"Magic is real," she started slowly, "And there is an entire community of witches and wizards right under our very noses. They go to the park, look at the shop windows, everything non-magic folk do, but through the shop windows there may be flying broomsticks, or boiling potions, or moving photographs. And when they get home their dinner might cook itself or an owl might come flying through a window. We're just like you Sherlock, human, but with a few more extraordinary qualities."

She stares at him, waiting for him to laugh, yell, cry, question. None of that comes. Instead, Sherlock Holmes does something that she would never think possible: he hugs her.

The questions don't come the next morning. The questions don't come to the afternoon. Instead, Sherlock sits and stares at the wall for hours, thinking. No, he doesn't ask questions at first, he makes deductions.

"Charlie's your husband," he says suddenly around half past nine in the morning, "I've always suspected you've been caught up on some ex, but now I know that it's been your never-ending loyalty to your husband." He looks straight at her, "Admirable. And Mick and Stella- I assume they're your children. And Corban Yaxley and Thorfinn Rowle?" He pauses for a second, seeing her wince, and continues on much more hesitantly, "I assume they might've done some very unforgivable things to you, Jane- Kidnapping, torture. I'm glad they're in jail, but quite frankly, upset they're still alive."

Jane looked up from her chair, taking a sip of tea. "They're getting the dementors kiss," she says, "They will have their souls drained from their body, Sherlock, it's a fate worse than a merciful death."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, not blinking. "How is one's soul drained from the body when it's intangible?"

"Well, any 'how' with magic involved is a hard question. I'm not going to get into the specifics magical theory, but in essence, there is a creature called a dementor. Somehow, they drain all things good from their surroundings: warmth, happiness. And when they get close enough to, well, let's just say kiss somebody, the soul is also drained," Jane tried to answer, "I can explain _what _happens very simply, Sherlock, but I can't give you answers about _how. _"

Sherlock gets up and starts to pace, a hard look on his angular face. Jane understands his reaction- he was just exposed to an entirely new world in which he hasn't figured out yet, and never will be able too.

"I'll give you my old Magical Theory textbooks; it was an elective at school, you know. Maybe that will quench a little of your curiosity."

"Yes. That would be nice," he suddenly pauses, "At school? You have your own school?"

Jane nearly bursts out laughing at the look on Sherlock's face. "Yes, we have several. But I reckon I went to the best: Hogwarts."

"Who would name a school Hog Warts?"

Jane giggles, "How 'bout you find a necromancer and ask the founders themselves."

"Necromancy is real!?"

* * *

Jane goes to her room that night, and starts to pack her bags. She suddenly stops and realizes what she is doing. While gaining her family, she's also losing one. As much as she'd groaned and whined about life in Muggle London, it wasn't half bad. It actually turned out to be pretty swell. She drops her empty suitcase. _What am I doing? _She thinks. And then, _What can I do?_

She knows in her heart that she can't have both. She knows that Jane Watson is a vastly different woman than Jane Weasley. And she knows that if they mix, the combination just might be destructive. She sits on her bed, and for the second time in three days, she starts to cry.

* * *

She's a rope, she determines, caught in a game of tug-a-war. A rope that's tugged on so long that the middle has started to fray. Both sides tugging are no closer to winning. But just at that moment, Charlie gave a particularly strong pull.

* * *

She is woken before the sun streams through curtains by loud dissonance coming from the living room. She deduces (for she could do that too, thankyouverymuch) that Sherlock knows she's leaving. The witch feels bad for him- he has a friend, and he believes that after today he will not. He will, though. Not only will they write (he doesn't know this, but she has decided it for both of them), but Sherlock has other friends. He's just too tunnel-visioned to notice it. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft will take care of him while she's away. And she's already planning a summer holiday to London with the whole crew (albeit only in her head).

She pads down to the living room, bare feet making no sound on the hardwood. She doesn't bring her luggage, or even get dressed- it's still early after all.

"Sherlock," she says, "I'll write, I'll visit, you just have to understand that I haven't seen my family in years, Sherlock, years. I've been dreaming of this day for the entire time. Don't get me wrong, you're still my best friend, but-" she cuts off when she sees that Sherlock isn't even going to acknowledge her. It hurts more than she'll ever admit, but she stays stony-faced and walks back up to her room. _Pull yourself together, Weasley, _she thinks, _You'll visit you'll write. It's not even that big of a deal. _That's the thing, though. It is a big deal. Oh, why, oh why can't she have both!

* * *

She gets ministry transport to Kings Cross. Welcome back, Jane Weasley, they say, You're a hero, others say. We're glad to have you back. She smiles, tight-lipped. I'm happy to be back, she says, but this whole ordeal is kind of bittersweet.

They give her puzzled looks. She once again smiles.

* * *

The reunion is all tears and hugs and disbelieving laughs. She kisses Charlie and hugs her children (when did they get so tall?). She cries and eats a grand meal of treacle tarts and roasted lamb squished on to a too-small table. She laughs at the blatant displays of magic and receives so many hugs that she feels as if her heart will burst out of her chest. She meets her nephew's and nieces and finally, oh finally, puts back on her wedding band.

* * *

She falls asleep listening to her husband's heartbeat, her hands on her children's backs. Now, her dreams are full of crime scenes and flats and forensics. Full of violin and police badges and guns. It seems attainable, though, just within arm's reach. She sleeps easy, knowing whatever comes next will ensure plenty of good night's sleeps to come.


	3. Chapter 3

"So you're telling me," Charlie starts, "that this Sherlock bloke can figure out people's life stories just by looking at 'em."

His beautiful wife turns to look at him. "Yes!" she says, "He can."

"Uh huh." grunts Charlie disbelievingly, "And what did he deduce about you?"

She smiles, a swoop of blonde hair falling down in front of her face. "Well of course his deductions fit the muggle world, not the wizarding, but he deduced my military background! And my sister, too, Charlie!"  
She keeps on talking but this is where he starts to tune out. He still can't believe it. Not the deducing muggle, that is, but that his best friend, his soulmate, is back. He stares at her- at her pink lips, her golden blonde hair. He stares at the gentle curve of her jaw and cheekbone, enjoys the small flush of her cheeks. He reaches up and tucks the strand of hair behind her ear.

She suddenly stops talking and sighs through her cute nose. "Charlie," she starts and Charlie suddenly wants to record her voice, the way she says her name, "You weren't listening, were you?" There's a smile on her face and a bit of laughter behind her voice despite her disapproving look.

"No," he says, sounding like a schoolboy, "How can I ever listen when my wife is looking so beautiful in front me?"

She laughs, and it's the most beautiful sound in the world. "Oh, how lucky I am to have you," says Charlie, and he kisses her passionately.

They make love that night.

* * *

Charlie remembers their days back at Hogwarts. He remembers their giddy kisses and competitive Quidditch matches. He remembers her in both yellow and black, and maroon and gold and, after a few years, her custom knitted baby blue "J" jumper. He fondly remembers those days, before the war. Before those goddamn death eaters ruined his wife.

He wakes her from her nightmare and holds her close, whispering in her ear.

"_It's okay baby. It's alright. You're home now. I'm here. I'm here."_

* * *

In a few days time Jane is back at work, hunting down dark wizards and confiscating cursed objects. He logically knows that he should feel nervous and hesitant about it. She was taken away from him and hurt doing this, after all. But he doesn't. Instead, he feels a swell of happiness for her. This is what she loves. This is what she lives for.

"Charlie, you're burning the bacon!" Jane laughs from the table one wonderful morning as he frantically turns around to salvage it. "You're magic, dear, this isn't supposed to happen."

Charlie laughs, "You know I was never one for household spells, Jane, I nearly failed that unit in Charms."

"If it weren't for me, I reckon you would've." They both laugh.

"Household spells," Charlie repeats, "I suppose I should've gotten better in Romania. I still stink, though."

"Grandma Molly is good at those." Mick says while pretending to read the Daily Prophet in mock seriousness, "I bet she can teach you!"

"Oh!" Jane exclaims, a smile beginning to form, "I suppose a visit to the Burrow is due about now. Your father can even get some hands-on experience helping Grandma with all the cleaning, isn't that right, Mick?"  
He laughs like the thought is the funniest in the world, "Yeah, Daddy! You can help Grandma with the chores!" Stella echoes Mick's words like a parrot.

Merlin, those adorable giggles were contagious. Soon enough, they were all laughing.

* * *

"I've been writing to Sherlock," Jane says, "He's been using the Witness Protection excuse to those who question."  
"You gonna follow up on that holiday idea? I'm down to meet this mysterious deducing man." Charlie wants a taste of Jane's life without him, wants to have a better understanding of what her life was like for those 713 days.

"You are?" she gasps, surprised. Of course I am, he feels like saying, I'm down for anything if you want it. I will move mountains for you if it makes you happy, Jane Weasley.

"Sure, why not?" he says instead, "he sounds interesting, if not a bit odd."

"Okay then!" Her smile is the cutest thing, "How 'bout this weekend? Does it fit your work schedule?"

"I believe so, Jane," he smiles, "It's a date!"

* * *

She calls Sherlock on her fellytone (or whatever you call it) and tells him to invite a bunch of others to 221B Baker Street this weekend, all of which have only existed to Charlie like characters in a story.

Jane's life would make a good story, he ponders, with its adventure and heroism and complexities.

He's broken from his reverie as she sits down next to him, the couch sagging the slightest bit. He peers at her for a few seconds, thinking of what to say before remembering something he has been dying to tell her.

"You know, Hebridean Blacks can grow up to 30 feet in length, but I could've sworn I saw one that was at least 35 the other day, though, Jane! You should've seen its massive spiked tail! Beautiful creature, it was."

She stares at him for a few seconds, then spontaneously breaks out into a gold-medal grin. "You are such a _nerd."_

She laughs good-naturedly, "So… tell me more about this gigantic dragon."

Charlie is more than happy to oblige.

* * *

Charlie takes the kids to Hogsmeade while Jane tells her Muggle friends about magic. The perks of having friends and family in the Ministry, he supposes, for the Statue of Secrecy would be excused. The day after tomorrow they are planning to floo right into 221B Baker Street (The fireplace is a little small, though, Jane warned, be sure to duck) and get acquainted with the mysterious Sherlock Holmes. And the day after that, they'll meet everyone else.

Charlie knows the kids are ecstatic about the trip. Their boundless curiosity extended to the Muggle World, after all. But he isn't sure what exactly he feels. A part of him feels excited, yes, but parts of him also feel nervous. What if her friends hate him? A part of him also feels curious, he determines, like the children, to see where exactly his wife had lived for 713 days. And although he tries to deny it, an innermost part of him feels angry. Angry that they only knew Jane at her half-best and angry that they got to spend time with her while he was gallivanting around in Romania. His feelings, though, didn't matter. All that truly matters to him was Jane's at the moment, and this happy little meeting would make Jane happy.

"Oh my my!" says a voice, snapping Charlie out of his reverie, "Look what the cat dragged in today!"

"Looks like our brother and his children have finally come 'round for a visit to the best joke shop in the world!" says another voice. He looks over to see the smiling faces of George and Ron.

"Ah, it's about time, innit?" Charlie laughs, "Just don't sneak the kids anything, I don't need more chaos at the house."

"Oh come on, where's your fun?" says Ron.

"Don't sneak them anything, Charlie? Oh, I promise!" says George.

Charlie sighs through his nose. "Well," starts Charlie, surrendering, "if you promise…"

George cheers, jumping over the counter whisking Mick sand Stella away to the back rooms.

"Good to have ya back," Ron smiles, "I can finally practice my salesmanship." He pauses, and begins to talk again in an exaggerated voice, "Step right up kind sir, would you be interested in buying fire resistance potions in bulk? Sure handy if you happen to run into dragons often!"

Charlie chuckles at first, but then his full focus is immediately on Ron. "Fire resistance? In bulk? Where? You know I'm rubbish at potions!" He starts to pull galleons out of his pockets.

* * *

Jane stands near the fireplace at their home, nervously adjusting her new robes. Today was the first day of their visit, and excited energy seemed to bounce around the house and puff their chests. Mick was nearly bouncing off the walls with this energy and Stella was, much to his chagrin, squirming endlessly in his arms.

"Here we go!" Jane nervously laughs as she ducks into the fireplace. "It's now or never."

"Now or never," Charlie echoes with a small smile, "Come on, love, shout it loud an' clear."

Charlie hears her sigh. "Now or never," she repeats again under her breath. And then louder, "221B BAKER STREET!" She disappears in a flourish of lime green flames.

Charlie coaxes Mick in, "Remember Mick, enunciate." he says.

"I don't know what enunciate means." Mick whines, but before Charlie could hastily change his wording, Mick shouts the location and speeds away.

Charlie looks around the family room and sighs as he ducks low to fit into the fireplace and hugs Stella closer to him. "221B BAKER STREET!" he shouts, and the world starts to spin.

Charlie is quite used to being covered in ash, working with dragons will do that to a lad, he supposes. But Stella, unfortunately, is not. As he shoots out from the fireplace, sliding on his back, he simply clears his throat and blinks it out of his eyes. Stella however, launches into a coughing fit, tears forming at the corner of her eyes.

He pats her back a few times, trying to soothe her. "S'alright, Stella, hack it up," he murmurs into her ear.

Charlie pushes himself off the floor, not bothering to fix his disheveled appearance. His eyes almost immediately find the analytical gaze of who, he determines, is Sherlock Holmes.

He is tall, maybe about four inches taller than Charlie, and he holds himself with a graceful air, despite being willowy. A mop of dark curls frames his angular face. The detective also wears a long coat and scarf.

Charlie stares at the man sheepishly for a few seconds, before breaking out into a grin and speaking, "Tell me about myself, Mr. Holmes."

The man doesn't even blink twice, "You have many siblings, consisting of mostly boys, if I am correct, and you are one of the eldest. You have an unconventional job, one that has you work hands-on and puts you in the path of danger. You've lived in foreign countries before, most likely in South-Eastern Europe. You played a sport when you were younger, and was quite good at it. And dare I say you have never known a life without magic."

Charlie lets out a booming laugh, "It's right, all of it! I'm the second eldest sibling, and I have five brothers and one sister. I work with dragons for a living, quite a dangerous and hands-on job if I do say so myself. And while Jane was with you here, the kids and I were off living in Romania, where I go for work often. I played seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, too. Reckon I could've gone pro if I wanted to. And I grew up in a magic family, so no, I don't have much experience with the muggle world. Merlin, you're just as good as Jane said you are!"

He takes a large breath after he finishes, before shifting Stella in his arms, and stepping forward with an outstretched hand. "Pleasure to meet you Sherlock Holmes, the name's Charlie Weasley."

The man stares at his calloused and burned hand for a moment. Charlie vaguely worries if he did something to make the consulting detective form a bad impression of him. But then, Sherlock smiles, and takes his hand, "Sherlock Holmes, but you already know that."

Charlie spares a glance at Jane, and her smile is so wide that he thinks her mouth must ache. His heart soars.

"This is Stella," he says bouncing her, "and how old are you, princess?" She turns away from him and burrows her head into Charlie's shoulder.

"She's a little shy in front of new people, but she's about four and a half," Jane interjects, "This little man in front of me is quite the social butterfly, though." She motions to Mick, who beams at the mention of his name.

"I'm eleven!" He shouts.

"Eight!" says Jane, shaking her head.

"Almost nine," adds Charlie.

"I'm a big boy!" Mick says excitedly while going on his tiptoes and pretending to flex his muscles.

Sherlock looks a little lost, Charlie notices, probably not accustomed to small children. Jane seems to catch this as well, already digging in her duffel (bigger on the inside, of course). She pulls out a long toy train and Charlie can't help but snigger a little bit when both Stella and Mick's heads snap to gaze at it.

"How 'bout you two play with this while Daddy and I talk to Sherlock, okay?"

They nod their heads and agree enthusiastically. Jane then pushes a button on the underside of the caboose, and the train levitates out of her hands with a puff of steam and an echoing _choo choo._

Much to the parents' amusement, Sherlock seems to be just as enraptured with the flying train as the children for a moment, his jaw hanging slightly and his eyes wide. He then seems to snap back to reality.

"Tea, would you like tea?" he asks.

* * *

Sherlock, Charlie decides, is a great person to be around if you look past his oddities. He can see why Jane was drawn to him; the consulting detective is like a breath of fresh air. He's new, exciting, someone unafraid to swim upstream. Charlie's inner wonder and curiosity (which he knows his wife most definitely shares) is drawn to him like a magnet- whom, why, how? Sherlock Holmes is the best type of enigma there is.

That night, they settle into Jane's old bedroom, their trunks strewn lazily across the room, and random objects transformed into small beds for the children. Jane sleepily snuggles up into him.

"Tomorrow you'll meet more people," she mumbles, "Greg, and Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson."

"I know, love," he replies, slowly rubbing circles across her back, "I'm sure they'll be lovely. Do you think the children will take to them well?"

She giggles softly, and for second Charlie is lovestruck. "When has Mick not taken to someone well? And Stella will come 'round to it." she says, "After a while we can lay Stella down for a nap and maybe even Mick, if he's tuckered out enough."

Charlie hums in agreement before placing a kiss to the top of Jane's head, "Goodnight, love, see you in the morning. I'm sure you'll be up before me."

"You know it. I'll even have tea waiting." She smiles, "Goodnight."

With a flick of his wand, Charlie turns off the light.


End file.
